The Last Hero

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Written by Paul Harris
Tuesday, 08 April 2008

4^th January 1967

Standing in the cockpit of the boat as she's pushed back from the jetty, I can see them all looking at me. I catch the eye of Frank from the Daily Mail, he smiles guiltily at me. Christ that man's been giving me hell this time.

"Only doing my job, Don old boy." He pointed out to me last night as we played cards.

"You wrote that I'd lost my nerve." I replied.

"Well, you must see how it looks, you've been here since November and still no record."

"Thanks, Frank," I replied, "It's been bloody hard work so far. You know we had trouble with the engine..."

I went on explaining all of the problems to him again. I finished by telling him we're ready now, more ready than ever before. He asked me what my target speed was. "Ah, Frank, now you know that's just between me and the lake, don't you."

He knows, they all know that we're aiming for 300mph, they just don't know when.

I look down the lake, past Peel Island. The water is flat, flatter than ever it has seemed before. As if someone has laid an enormous sheet of glass over it. The dark grey clouds are reflected in it's never ending black depths, never before has it looked so cold, so uninviting.

For nearly 20 years this place has been a second mistress to me, encouraging me when I have run out of confidence. Beckoning me to come to her and dance with her. Rewarding me with glory when I have pushed my limits. Mocking me when I have made mistakes. But always there has been a dark side to her, threatening me, telling me that she can take me as her own whenever she chooses.

My first mistress is the boat in which I stand. She, like all of her predecessors, is named "Bluebird". She is 11 years and 11 months old, the most beautiful, sleek craft ever to take to the water. Over the years I have been taken to the heights of ecstasy by her and plunged into the depths of despair. I have willingly been taken to the very edge of bankruptcy by her fickle ways, but when she has delivered for me, she has delivered me more worldly goods than even the richest could dream. After this record she will be retired to be cosseted and marvelled at by her adoring fans.

The boat pushing me out pulls away, leaving me alone. I look down the lake, a perfect mirror image of the sky. In the distance I can see the orange flash of the first safety boat. I know that Leo and Robbie will be waiting there to control operations for me.

Leo, my most trusted friend, the man who I used to know as "Uncle" when he worked tirelessly for my father, and who gave himself without question to me at my bidding. Good old Unc.

Robbie, dear boy, would do anything for me. I love him as I would my own son, always waiting for me to return to Coniston to take him away from the hotel chores and embrace him into the Bluebird family.

I take my seat for the performance. The best seat in the house.

I buckle up my crash helmet and pull the oxygen mask across my mouth and nose. I flick the switch for the microphone.

"Skipper to base, Skipper to base, do you read me? Over."

Leo's voice comes back to me. "Base to Skipper, Base to Skipper, we read you, over."

"Hello, Leo. I'm starting my first run, over."

I press the compressed air charger button twice and then the starter button. The Orpheus engine behind me starts to whine. My hands tremble slightly as the adrenaline begins to pump through my veins.

Every time it gets me. Whether I am in a Land Speed Record car or a Water Speed Record boat, the excitement is the same. Every inch of my body comes alive. I tingle from head to toe. I am ready for anything. I am ready for my fate.

This is the day, this is the moment. Today I am going to rewrite history. I will silence my harshest critics. I will show the World that I am a force to be reckoned with. From this day on, people will speak of me with awe and reverence.

I push the throttle open, the whine from the engine becomes a roar, and gently Bluebird moves forwards, I steer slightly to starboard to line her up for the course. For a second time I hear Leo's voice. "Base to all stations, Base to all stations. Bluebird is starting her first run. Complete radio silence, I repeat, complete radio silence."

I open the throttle still further, water begins to spray over the cockpit glass. I speak into the open microphone. "Starting my run now, water's good. Coming towards Leo now, full throttle."

Gently Bluebird's bows lift out of the water. The spray stops obscuring my view. I can see Leo's boat off to my left. Ahead of me is the series of marker buoys for the measured mile. I continue to speak, a running commentary for everyone. Gently I make corrections to the steering and throttle. As I enter the measured mile I glance down at the speedometer. It shows me 290mph. Nearly 5 miles per minute. At this speed I shall cover the mile in slightly more than 12 seconds. The trees on the bank to my left and the hills to my right are no more than a blur in my peripheral vision.

Somewhere out there are the Swiss timekeepers, back again after their Christmas break. All of their equipment focussed on this tiny blue missile streaking across the vast expanse of grey-black water. A huge plume of water rises like a rooster's tail behind it. Also there are newspaper reporters, notebooks open, pens poised to record my latest success or failure. There are movie cameras too, recording each split second of my journey. The captured images will be distributed to waiting news agencies across the World.

I pass the marker that signals the end of the measured mile and again glance down at the speedometer. 310mph, I have already been slowly lifting off of the throttle so that the bows don't drop too suddenly and cause the boat to dive into the cold grey abyss.

The radio crackles into life again, "Standby for refuelling." Leo warns the team at the Southern end of the lake.

"Hello Leo," I call, "I'm not going to refuel, the gauges show everything is good in here. Same routine as in Australia, over."

I get no reply. "Skipper to Base, Skipper to Base, do you read me? Over."

Again no reply. Damn this radio, it's been nothing but trouble since we put it in the boat. I make a mental note to get Leo to change it this afternoon.

Bluebird has nestled back down into the water by the time I give up trying to call Leo. I let the boat run wide around the back of the refuelling boat and signal to them that I'm not stopping. I can see the confused look on their faces, two of the boys still holding the pump nozzle. I give them a mock salute and straighten up the wheel. They wave back nervously.

"Timekeepers to Base, plus 47." The radio squawks. Plus 47, that's an average of 297mph for that run. 29mph faster than my own record set in Australia two years ago. A 300mph record looks like it's definitely on. I press the throttle down, I know I've got to get through this one quickly. The wash that I created on my first run will hit the shores of the lake and start to come back towards me. I need to be a long way down the course before I run into it as I will have to slow down.

I line the little snub nose of my baby up towards the marker buoys and start to wind on the power.

"Base to all stations, he's starting his return run, standby."

"Hello Leo, this is it, I'm going for it now."

"Roger, Skipper."

Damn he can hear me now. I keep on pushing the throttle further and further open. The Orpheus is screaming at me from behind. Bluebird is up on the plane. We're really going this time. I look as far down the course as I possibly can. Looking for debris, anything that may ruin this run.

Without thinking, I am talking into my microphone. I know that Leo and the boys are all listening. This is it, this is the result of all of their hard work, the months away from their loved ones. This is for my daughter at school in Switzerland, my wife in London, my mother waiting back at her house. Most of all this is for me, for the pain and the heartache, for the tears, the sweat, the toil, the money.

I'm really moving now, the speedometer shows that I am doing about 320mph. Come on old girl, let's see what you're made of!

As I reach the last third of the course, I start to meet my wash, just as I thought I would. The boat starts to tramp from one side to the other. I keep my foot down, I keep on talking to Leo.

"Pitching a bit down here . . . Probably from my own wash . . . Straightening up now on track . . . Rather close to Peel Island . . . Tramping like mad . . . Full power . . . Tramping like hell here . . . I can't see much . . . and the water's very bad indeed . . . I can't get over the top . . . I'm getting a lot of bloody row in here . . . I can't see anything . . . I've got the bows up . . . I'm going . . . "

In the second before Bluebird becomes airborne I lift my foot from the throttle and apply the water brake. I shut the engine down.

In an instant all I can see is grey clouds, then I'm upside down, then all I see is the hard, cold, steely water.

As Bluebird breaks up, the cold, cold water rushes to embrace me and hold be tightly in her arms. She holds me so tight that I can't breathe. She drags me down into her depths, to hold me and never let go.

*********

34 years after the accident, Donald Campbell's boat, Bluebird was recovered from the lake on March 8^th 2001 by diver Bill Smith and is being restored to running condition with the blessing of Donald's family. Donald's body was finally retrieved from Lake Coniston on May 28^th, and laid to rest in Coniston village on September 12^th 2001.

Between Donald and his father, Sir Malcolm Campbell 11 World records were held on the water 10 on the land. Donald remains the only person in history to break both the land and the water speed records in the same year.